Theo's Game
by AlwaysPadfoot
Summary: As soon as his feet touched the polished wooden floorboards, Theo was wide awake and ready.


A/N: Written as a reserve for the captain of Montrose Magpies for QLFC Round 11.

Prompt: Write about a horror-themed story on a winter night(s).

Word count: 1502

* * *

 **Theo's Game**

It was the screaming that woke him up. Not the wind howling outside, or the hailstones battering the windows, but the desperate cries of his mother echoing around the house.

Theodore's dad regularly beat and tortured his mum, so he almost didn't get out of bed.

Except he couldn't help it.

The noise was unbearable; it was a thousand times worse than it had been before. As soon as his feet touched the polished wooden floorboards, Theo was wide awake and ready. He pulled a green, knitted jumper on over his grey pyjamas to protect him from the winter chill and strode across to the door. Wrapping his fingers around the doorknob, he yelped suddenly and recoiled fast.

The skin on the palm of his hand blistered instantly.

Theo bit so hard on the inside of his cheek he drew blood. Sucking in a breath, he summoned the courage to look at his hand; the blisters were beginning to ooze yellow-green pus. _Why would his door handle be cursed?_

A sickening realisation set upon him, making his stomach turn; this was one of his dad's games.

Theo desperately tried to think of all the things his dad had done in the past, even though he knew deep down it was useless. He never did the same thing twice.

 _'_ _Never become predictable, Theodore,' his dad sneered, twisting his arm painfully when he caught Theo trying to steal biscuits from the pantry for the second time in a row._

 _It wasn't fair. His dad shouldn't have known he would use the exact same technique; he should have thought that Theo wouldn't try and get the biscuits again._

It occurred to Theo that he might have to start thinking like his father if he had any hope of figuring out how the next few hours would progress.

He had no hope of getting through the bedroom door to get to his mother, so he grabbed his wand and pulled some shoes on before lifting the bedroom window up. The cold wind hit him face on, and the hailstones made his skin sting. By the time he'd climbed out and shuffled across to the balcony of his parents' room, he was soaked through. The wet clothes clung to his skin and he had to take a long moment to control the vicious shaking of his body.

Folding his arms across his chest, Theo hurried to the open balcony doors. The curtains were billowing inwards, and when he passed into the room, his ears popped. Suddenly, it was like the doors were closed and the room was soundproof because it was so silent. Theo could no longer hear the raging winter storm outside; no longer could he hear his mother screaming.

It was just completely quiet.

All he could hear was his ragged breathing. He tripped over the curled-over corner of the rug on the floor as he crept towards the open door onto the landing. He was terrified; he always was.

'Mum?' The word was supposed to come out loud and strong; instead, it exited his mouth as a whisper and he cursed to himself.

The landing was dark, dimly lit by the light in the stairwell. Theo remained close to the wall, cradling his injured hand to his chest, trying not to think about it. He hated this; Dad claimed it was training, to make sure he didn't grow up to be a Muggle-lover, or worse, a poof, but Theo thought that maybe his dad just hated them. Every time a floorboard creaked underfoot, Theo froze in fear, and waited until he was sure no one had heard before moving again.

He was sure, given the silence, that his father knew exactly where he was.

Why, when all his friends were home enjoying Christmas, was he creeping around his own house and hoping that he wasn't going to be caught and punished?

As soon as he stepped on the staircase, an awful sound filled his ears, and the next thing Theo knew, he was falling. He was sliding down the splintered wood until he landed face down on the floor at the bottom of the stairs. For a long moment, Theo didn't uncurl from the ball he was tightly coiled in because he knew he was crying, but he wouldn't show anyone that. His shoulders shook because everything hurt and he didn't want to get up; in fact, he wanted to give up.

He jolted at the sound of his mum screaming, and a sob broke free from his lips.

Theo pushed himself up awkwardly. Noticing that there was blood on his jumper, he put a hand to his head and his fingers came away sticky. He swallowed; using the wall for support, he felt his way towards the sound — for some reason, it was awfully dark down here.

'Mum? Mum, where are you?' This time, his voice was louder; he just wanted this to end now. Theo's voice crescendoed. 'Dad, stop. Please.'

 _'_ _Please, please, please, I want to go!'_

 _Dad hit him hard in the stomach. Theo couldn't breathe as the air rushed out of his lungs, and he was left gasping for breath._

 _'_ _Notts do not beg.'_

Theo pressed his lips together, chanting his father's mantra in his head. Do not be predictable; do not cry; do not beg. Instead of entering the office through the main door, he circled round through the kitchen to the side entrance. He made a point of quickly tapping the doorknob to make sure this one wasn't cursed and then slowly twisted it.

The office was dark inside, but his mother's sobbing drew him in. He rushed over to her immediately; he loathed seeing her like this. Theo's mother was a kind, compassionate woman; she had sung him to sleep, read to him when it was raining, and tended to him when he was ill. Theo loved her; he hated to see her hurt, whilst his father seemed to get a thrill from it.

'Oh, Theo, you're bleeding,' she whispered breathlessly. 'Come here, baby boy. Let me heal it.'

'No, Mum,' he responded. 'It's okay; let me help you — _please_.'

'Yes, _baby boy,_ let Mummy help you.' Dad sneered from a dark corner to Theo's left. 'Step away from her.'

'No.' Theo was shocked at his sudden response; he never talked back to his father. 'No, I won't. You need to stop.'

He didn't even see his father cast the spell that knocked him off his feet. There was a flash of bright yellow, Theo's feet left the floor, and then his back slammed against the shelves, books raining down on him. His mum started screaming again and Theo tried to break out of his daze. With his wand gripped in his hand, Theo cast without thinking and the spell hopelessly ricocheted off the shield around his father. The flash of blue left a scorch mark on the wall where it landed.

Theo's mum's screams subsided as his father lifted the curse and rounded on Theo. The Cruciatus Curse ripped through his body, causing pain like he had never experienced, and then when it lifted, he fell forward onto his hands and knees.

'Apologise,' his father demanded.

'No,' Theodore responded breathlessly, struggling to support his weight with how hard he was shaking. 'No, I won't.'

His father strode across the room and gripped his son's chin between two slender fingers. 'No son of mine will display such weakness.'

He raised his wand, not to Theo, but his mother. The flash of green that filled the room made Theo cry out; it was too late. The Killing Curse struck the feeble figure of his tortured mother before he could do a thing. She spun onto her back and fell still, her sobs ceasing in an instant. Theo felt his eyes fill with tears, and his father backhanded him so hard that he choked on the wail that was about to leave his mouth. He flung Theo towards his mother's dead body.

'You will not disobey me ever again,' he spat. 'Your mother was weak; I will not have you become like her.'

Theo started to cry the instant his father left the room, locking the door behind him. He refused to hold back; noises that sounded inhuman came from deep inside him, wracking through his body until he passed out from exhaustion.

Theo's father did not come back. He did not unlock the office doors until Theo had seen his mother's body go from looking like she was simply asleep to a point where she was clearly dead and he wanted to scratch his eyes out. He would never un-see that; every wonderful memory of his mother would be tainted. The image of her body going through the initial stage of decomposition would forever be burnt into his memory.

His father had very little to say. He simply looked down on his son with disgust evident from the curl of his lip and sneered.

'You will always pay the price for disobedience.'


End file.
